Memories Seep From My Veins

by Leydhawk

Glee timeline divergence: Burt died in Ep 3/S 2. Kurt is a senior in college, but his life has been very different from canon. He's succeeded in ways beyond expectations, but without his Dad's support, his victories are hollow. When it all comes crashing down, a stranger named Pacey Witter is there to make a softer landing and maybe heal what broke in Kurt at 16. Slash C/P on AO3

A/N This started from the thought: what would have happened to Kurt if Burt had died? Now, I absolutely LOVE Burt. He's just about the best parent character I have ever seen, certainly the best adult character on Glee, and I am such an enormous fan of Kurt that I couldn't bring myself to write in depth about what that would have done to Kurt. Too painful! I had to think about it bigger picture. I decided that Kurt either would have crawled into a shell and lost himself, or he'd have built a wall of bravado so thick that nothing would penetrate it. He's so strong, I had to go with the wall. He's so sensitive, that I had to have him fragile within that wall, so that when his life crumbled, he'd break and have to rise like a phoenix.

I don't know where Pacey came from, except that he's so much like Burt, and many people tend to be drawn a version of their parent. But this Pacey is gay, and a decade beyond the end of Dawson's Creek; he could have simply been an original character, so I'm not putting this in the black hole that is crossovers on this site. I give enough backstory that you don't need to have ever seen DC to 'get' him. If you're a gleek, though, and you want some more teen angst to watch, the first few seasons of DC are worth checking out. As with season 6 of Glee, though, the show wasn't as good at the end as the beginning. Sorry to anyone who actually liked season 6 of Glee- I have to just pretend it doesn't exist.

One

Hours, alone, watching his Dad sleep after his heart attack, waiting for him to wake up. Please, please wake up.Then suddenly:

Alarms.

Hands pushing him back, then out of the room.

The reassuring sound of a heart monitor beeping a rhythm. Relief.

The shattering speech from the doctor: Coded...no higher brain function...organ donation...

Kurt Hummel, the last of his family still living.

Something died. In his mouth. Something fuzzy and foul and... Dry heaves shook Kurt awake and as they subsided, his eyes opened to the steel grey light of New York City. God, where the hell was he?

Pacey Witter muttered to himself as he dumped the trash from his restaurant into the bin in the alley. Owner/operator meant janitor more often than he cared to think. And then there was the sound of a homeless person puking. Oh what a beautiful morning! He turned to make sure they weren't drowning in their vomit and he stared. There was an angel on the dirty cement beside his dumpster.

Kurt tried to roll over, but something on his back prevented him. He decided it wasn't worth the effort to figure that out, and he just cursed, pushing up onto his hands and knees instead. Then someone was hauling him up with a strong hand under his arm.

"Alright, buddy. Up you go."

Kurt blinked blearily at his helper. Dark hair, full face... His stomach heaved again and the man sidestepped, putting his arm around Kurt's waist. Nothing came up, and he was guided toward a door. He stumbled and followed.

"You don't look like the typical guys who pass out back there, kid, let's get you cleaned up and I can call your parents, okay?"

Kurt pulled back and tried to stand on his own. He swayed but stayed upright. "I'm on my own, and I'm not a kid," Kurt protested. His voice was rough, but still in his stressed-out higher register. He groaned and smacked his lips at the horrible taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, okay, angel. Have a seat, then, and I'll at least get you some water," Pacey replied. Maybe he was older than Pacey had thought at first. His eyes certainly looked it, but then, Pacey had been told he had that look when he was a kid, too.

Kurt thanked the man politely and sipped the water gingerly. He felt it go all the way down and splash uneasily in his empty stomach and he set the glass aside and put his head in his hands. Often enough in the last few weeks, he'd ended up with a morning after like this. He ran through an inventory of how his body felt and decided he probably hadn't gotten into any fights or had sex the night before. That was a plus. He didn't want to have to keep going to the clinic to get tested like some cheap whore. He took another sip of water and stood.

"Hey, why don't you just stay here for a little longer, alright? No need to fly away before you're steady."

Kurt looked at the kindly face with a dull expression. "Why..." Then he looked over his shoulder and saw them. He'd somehow ended up with fluffy white wings strapped to his back. He clawed at the straps across his chest and tried to unfasten them. He gave up and slumped, drinking a bit more water and feeling the front pocket of his jeans for his ID and emergency cash. It felt like he had them. "Would you be able to hail me a taxi? I think my head just might explode if I tried."

"You know where you're going, right? And you have money?"

"Yeah, um, well...where am I?"

The man told him and he nodded, pulling his cash out and calculating. He wasn't that far from home. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Alright, then."

Kurt forced himself to drain the glass and followed his helper out. The blinding throb of his hangover kept him from registering much more than his vague impressions about him, (tall, older) but something about the man seemed to make him feel comfortable as he rested a hand on Kurt's shoulder while he hailed a taxi at the curb.

"I can't imagine it will make much difference to you, buddy, but... You're worthy of treating yourself better than this. C'mon back if you need to be reminded of that." A business card was tucked into his hand, and gentle fingers unfastened the wings and held them until Kurt got into the taxi, then handed them to him.

"Thanks," Kurt said, frowning. This really felt too heavy for just a morning after. Portentous, even. "Thank you, really."

Pacey patted the roof of the taxi as he shut the door, hoping for the best for the beautiful, wayward stranger with the sad, weary eyes.

Two

"I have income from the shop, my house is paid for, and I am a very responsible person. If anyone can get emancipated, I will. There's no way inhellI am going into foster care."

Letter to Judge Terrence Dawson from William Schuester re: the emancipation of Kurt Hummel

Your honor,

I am writing to recommend that you grant emancipation to the minor, Kurt Hummel. He has always shown himself to be responsible...

Letter to Judge Terrence Dawson from Guidance Counselor Emma Pillsbury re: the emancipation of Kurt Hummel...

Letter to Judge Terrence Dawson from Coach Sue Sylvester re: the emancipation of Kurt Hummel...

Granted by the Honorable Judge Terrence Dawson, on October 5, 2010, Emancipation and full adult legal status to Kurt Elizabeth Hummel of Lima, Ohio...

"Is this place any good?" Elliot asked, holding up the business card that Kurt didn't clearly recall leaving on his kitchen counter.

"I don't know. Not sure where I got that," he said, but a vague positive association tickled his memory. He shrugged. "Let's try it."

Their band, the Pamela Lansburys, was just about the only thing that hadn't fallen out from under him after he'd collapsed in the middle of opening night of the musical he'd written and starred in for his college senior project. Kurt had barely even attended classes in the weeks since the debacle, but when Elliot got them gigs, he showed up and the duo fronted their band like they were complete professionals. Which meant that Elliot was one of his only friends still speaking to him. The others were those friends like Mercedes who lived in other parts of the country. Everyone else was shunning him like his failure was a contagion. Bless the day freshman year that Elliot had showed up in his crazy Starchild persona to audition for the band. They'd grown closer as they succeeded together performing at various small venues all over the city. And thank goodness they'd never risked screwing the friendship up by sleeping together!

Elliot convinced Kurt to walk the 12 blocks to the restaurant, and Kurt was glad of it by the time they arrived. He had only been getting exercise dancing at clubs while drunk and sometimes high, so the outdoor air and sober exertion felt good. He was actually hungry, which had become a rarity for him, so when Elliot suggested they sit in the restaurant part of the establishment instead of just the bar, he was amenable.

The waitress had pink and purple stripes in her hair and two facial piercings. She was knowledgeable and friendly, and suggested wine pairings for the meals they ordered after checking their IDs. They agreed and enjoyed the food and the complementary flavors of the wine. Instead of some sort of salad, which he typically ordered when out, Kurt had the first substantial meal he'd eaten in months. Even before the disastrous show, he'd been too stressed to take proper care of himself, and the amphetamines he'd taken in those last few weeks before the show opened certainly hadn't helped.

Full almost to feeling stuffed, sitting back in his chair and smirking at something Elliot said, sipping the last of his wine, Kurt heard a voice that sounded oddly familiar and he turned to look as the manager or owner or whoever came by their table to see how their evening had been.

"Did Katrina take good care of you here?" The man asked, his eyes on Elliot, and Kurt took a moment to look at him, puzzled. He was the source of the familiar voice, and Kurt somehow recognized his face as well, although he couldn't place where from.

Pacey glanced from the tall, made-up, punk-styled guy to his companion as he made the rounds to check on his guests as he always did. And his smile went from professionally polite to warm with recognition. He patted the thin, pale young man's shoulder, leaving his hand there.

"Well, angel, I didn't expect to see you again so soon," he said. The boy's eyes widened and Pacey laughed. Poor guy didn't remember him.

Kurt's eyes darted from the restaurant worker to Elliot. No help there; Elliot looked amused but clueless. Kurt studied the man, and although he was attractive, he was much older and not the physical type he usually went for at the clubs. Had he hooked up with this guy and totally blacked it out? He might have had a moment of nostalgia; the man had the same shaped face as David Karofsky, his high school boyfriend.

"Um... I'm sorry, have we met?" Kurt asked politely. It wouldn't do to have him think a hook-up had been anything more than a passing moment together.

"Yesterday morning I helped you get a taxi," Pacey said, politely editing out the particulars. "I'm Pacey Witter. I own this place."

Hazy memories surfaced and Kurt's face turned a deep shade of red. Not a hook-up; a savior, who had found him passed out in an alley. His eyes dropped to the table and he couldn't for the life of him get them raised again.

"Mr Witter, I'm Elliot Gilbert, and my quietly humiliated friend is Kurt Hummel."

Kurt's head snapped up. "I am not humiliated!" He hissed at his smirking friend. He turned to Pacey, who looked bemused but not patronizing as Kurt had feared. "I want to thank you for helping me in my indisposition yesterday. Your restaurant is lovely, the food was very, very good, and Katrina was a wonderful server."

"Glad to hear it. You look like you could use a few good meals, angel, so I hope I'll see you back here again soon," Pacey replied honestly. Something about the boy seemed to need so much and ask for far too little and Pacey had always had a soft spot for people like that. Hell, he'd married a girl just like that, before he'd realized he was gay. Joey was still his best female friend. He squeezed the bony shoulder and reluctantly let go. "I mean that, Kurt. It's good to take care of yourself when you need it. Don't hide away. Come back anytime." He nodded to Elliot and walked away, feeling the heavy gaze of both of them as he headed for his office.

"Why'd he call you angel?" Elliot asked. Kurt threw cash into the bill folder and stood. He held his chin up as he strode towards the door, eager to get out of the establishment. Elliot sighed and added his portion to the payment, then followed his haughty friend out. No way Kurt was going to tell him what had happened or where the nickname came from.

Whether from all the walking or from the unexpected nutrition he'd ingested, Kurt returned to his apartment and decided not to go out dancing that night. He felt almost human, so he made himself some warm milk with brown sugar and nutmeg, something he rarely did, and settled in for a quiet night at home. He was asleep by ten o'clock.

Three

"We can't keep bowing to Lady Hummel just because his dad died!" Santana exclaimed. Kurt froze outside the door to the music room. It had only been a week since he'd been granted his emancipation, and he had hoped things with the glee club would be returning to normal.

"Dude, some of his ideas are actually kinda awesome," Sam protested. There were some murmurs of agreement, and Kurt's eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"Yeah, Santana, I don't know about you, but I'm listening to Kurt because he's really smart and talented. He doesn't need your pity vote," Mercedes agreed.

Kurt stifled a smirk and walked in as if nothing had happened. For the first time he let himself really step up in and insist they at leasttry performing the numbers he suggested.

And they were amazing, his vocals especially. Kurt left feeling confident and ready to fight for his ideas more. It didn't matter how he felt inside as long as everyone saw his strong persona and listened to him.

The next morning Kurt decided he needed to go to the school and talk with someone. He had sold his childhood home in Lima to pay his tuition, so he really needed to know what was going to be required to salvage his senior year so he could at least graduate. Sticking his head in the sand wasn't helping.

Madam Tibedeaux informed him that he had two options if he wanted to be able to graduate: Immediately get back with his instructors and work out how he could still pass the semester, or withdraw for now and start his senior year over in the new term.

Leaving the office feeling sick, Kurt decided that lunch might help settle his stomach while he pondered. He splurged on a taxi and tried to justify to himself why he was going back to the restaurant from the night before. He gave up and simply trudged inside and was seated and handed a lunch menu. He looked up in startlement when the chair across from him was pulled out and Pacey sat down to join him for his meal. The owner of the restaurant set two bottles of sparkling water down for them.

"I'm really glad you came back, Kurt," Witter said. He plucked the menu from the younger man's hands and set it aside. "I have them making something special for us. Relax."

Kurt's instinct when caught off guard was to attack with vicious wit, but the kind openness he saw in Pacey's eyes short circuited his voice. Something about how he looked at Kurt was like a warm blanket of acceptance surrounding him, and he gave up trying to figure out why he felt that way.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Pacey had a very genuine looking smile. It crinkled his eyes at the corners, and seemed to hold some kind of boyish mischief. It was charming and attractive, and Kurt found himself smiling back tentatively, which only widened Pacey's expression.

The meal was a hearty soup with bread fresh from the oven, slathered in butter. Kurt cocked an eyebrow at the amount of fat, but moaned appreciatively with the first bite. Pacey kept a running monologue as they ate, telling Kurt about growing up in a small town as the black sheep son of a cold, closed-off father, and how he'd ended up moving to New York and getting married. Kurt wondered if his sense of the man was completely off until Pacey then chronicled his coming out and divorce. His stories were self-deprecating but gently so. This man knew who he was and wore no blinders about himself or the world he lived in, but somehow he'd maintained an optimism and generosity that Kurt was drawn to like water in the desert.

Pacey saw how Kurt watched him warily for any sign of ulterior motives or manipulation, and his heart ached seeing such cynicism in someone so young. But he could feel how Kurt responded to his stories, so he kept talking, telling him more than he had planned, talking about how hard it was to disappoint Joey's dreams of a family together but how he had to follow his own path, no matter how many times he face-planted along the way.

They sipped coffee after their meal as Pacey wound down. Kurt looked more relaxed, and Pacey considered the experience a win.

"I have to decide if I'm going to withdraw from school and try again in the fall. It's been an utterly disastrous senior year for me," Kurt confessed quietly after they'd settled into a comfortable silence.

"What's the alternative?"

Kurt's lip twisted. "Grovel to my instructors."

Pacey laughed, and Kurt stared at him warily.

"Well that's a no-brainer, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're worried about what it means about you as a person if you take the do-over, but you positively loathe the idea of debasing yourself."

"So you're saying I should..."

"Take care of yourself.You deserve to feel good about what you're doing; about who you are. There's no one right answer for everyone. Believe me when I tell you that no one in the real, post-college world cares when you graduated. If you need a degree for what you wanna do, get it when it's right to get it. Don't kill yourself trying to meet someone else's timeframe."

Kurt sagged back in his chair. Said so matter-of-factly, the advice seemed obvious, and relief crashed through him. His eyes prickled with emotion and he cleared his throat.

"I don't know what to say."

Pacey leaned forward and put his hand on top of Kurt's on the table. "Don't worry about it, angel. I just want you to be okay."

Kurt laughed, some of his bravado returning. "Who says I'm not okay?"

"The man who found you fallen in an alley," Pacey replied, unwilling to go along with Kurt's brush off. Kurt's smile faltered and he looked down, his eyes catching on his hand, held gently by Pacey's. It wasn't possessive, it was comforting. He couldn't remember anyone but his Dad holding his hand that way, and with that thought, a lump filled his throat.

When had anyone ever seen him? Seen past his masks and armor and bullshit? Kurt felt naked, but he also felt safe, and he didn't turn away or hide when a tear crept down his cheek. He looked back up at Pacey and gave him a nod. Pacey's answering smile was like nothing Kurt had seen in years. It shone into him and the ice inside him softened, just a little.

Four

Kurt was fed up. He followed Karofsky into the locker room to confront him about the bullying, only to be forcefully kissed by the big football player. When he drew away and Karofsky ran from him, Kurt went after the boy and they ended up talking for hours. David admitted that he was powerfully attracted to Kurt, that he admired him for his courage and had taken the juvenile outlet of tormenting him from desperation.

And they ended up kissing again, less forcefully.

"I can't be with someone who's hiding who he is, David," Kurt said , reluctantly pulling away from the larger boy's embrace. Hypocrisy burned in the back of his mind, some part of him sneering at how much of a fake he was, pretending to be confident and aloof while he just wanted someone to hold him and make all his pain go away, but Kurt was learning to stuff such reactions down.

"If I come out, you'll be my boyfriend?" David asked. At Kurt's nod, Karofsky's path was set. It only took two fistfights with his former best friend to quell commentary about his new status, and he proudly held Kurt's hand as they walked the halls at school.

Kurt enjoyed havingsomeone, even a guy with whom he had little in common, and through time they found that making out wasn't a bad basis for a relationship.

As long as David showered after football practice.

Kurt pulled his most arrogant manner around him like a cloak when he went to withdraw from school. It was his only protection from the whispers and ridicule he sensed from everyone who recognized him. The rumors spinning around regarding what had happened to cause his collapse were worse than anything he'd faced as the town pariah in high school before his father had died, so his attitude was proportionally bigger. He filled out the forms and signed them with a grand flourish, then strode out and across campus as if he was walking a runway.

Once he'd changed trains and figured he had lost anyone from NYADA among the crowds, he let his posture soften slightly, and he allowed himself the crutch of putting on sunglasses so he could relax his haughty demeanor, at least in his eyes.

When he exited the station, the enormity of what he'd done started to hit him, and his knees began to shake. He walked home via his favorite liquor store and carried the three bottles of wine the rest of the way home without self consciousness. He opened one as soon as he got inside, before he'd even hung up his outerwear, and the first glass went down just shy of chugging.

The designer jacket was neatly tucked away before the second glass, although he continued standing for half of it. Looking down at the fabulous outfit he wore, Kurt took the glass with him to his bedroom. He stripped down to his calvin klein boxer briefs and wrapped himself up in his long robe, then drained the glass and got a refill, taking the second bottle, the open one, and a corkscrew to set beside him when he curled up on the couch.

What the hell was he doing? How had everything gone so wrong so fast? He'd fucked up so badly, not keeping track of just how long it had been since he'd slept or ate before opening night. God, the amphetamines had been a mistake, but energy drinks and coffee just hadn't been enough while he was trying to keep up with his classes and the musical. Tears slid down his cheeks and he sipped his wine, feeling the warmth of it suffusing him. At least those evil little pills were gone. He wouldn't do that again, no matter what.

Kurt opened the second bottle before he poured his fourth glass.

What was he going to do now? The deposits from the revenue from his father's tire shop and the dividends from what was left of the money he'd gotten from selling the house would continue to pay his bills, but without school to structure his time, Kurt was at a loss for how to fill his days. He was too depressed to start on writing another play. He could fine tune some of the songs he'd written for the Pamela Lansburys. Maybe Elliot would get them more gigs with Kurt's open availability. He picked up his phone and texted him.

From Kurt- I withdrew from school for now. If you want to schedule more performances, I'm available.

From Elliot- U ok?

From Kurt- Fine, of course.

From Elliot- Ur drinking, aren't u

From Kurt- What's it to you?

From Elliot- Want company?

From Kurt- God, no. I'm in my underwear. Wouldn't want to tempt you beyond reason.

From Elliot- Don't flatter urslf. Have u eaten? Wanna go out?

From Kurt- FU

From Elliot- I SAID don't flatter urslf! Be there in an hour- don't pass out.

From Kurt- I don't want you here. I simply wanted to inform you I am available to perform.

From Elliot- C U soon

Kurt threw his phone down on the sofa next to him and drained his glass. If he was far enough gone when Elliot arrived he wouldn't remember the lecture he was bound to receive.

Kurt woke on his bathroom floor, grateful that he always kept it meticulously clean. He clawed his way to his feet and drank some of the water from the glass waiting on the sink. Squinting to focus, he found two pain relievers sitting there as well, and he took them as he finished the water. Either he had prepared for this inevitable morning or Elliot had indeed come over and taken care of him. At this point he didn't really care which.

Elliot was on his couch when Kurt passed by, carefully walking to his kitchen for a bottled water.

"You gonna make me breakfast?" Elliot asked. Kurt ignored him. "It's the least you could do."

That was probably true. Kurt looked in his refrigerator and shrugged that there was nothing but fancy condiment jars and bottles. He didn't even have a cucumber to slice for his puffy eyes. Another shrug. That's what sunglasses were for.

"I'll take you out," Kurt croaked. "Gimme an hour."

"Fair enough."

So Kurt was at Pacey's restaurant for the third time in a week, this time sampling the brunch menu. Elliot had given the address to the taxi driver, and Kurt hadn't contradicted him.

Katrina informed Pacey that they were there. She'd quietly observed her boss's interaction with the beautiful young man both times he'd eaten there, and had decided that it was time for him to do something other than work at the restaurant open to close every day.

Pacey's mouth twisted into a smile that told her that he knew exactly what she was doing and didn't really approve, but maybe didn't completely disapprove, either, and he left his office. Spying the young men, he saw that Kurt was hung over again, but just as ethereally attractive as he'd been in the alley. Pacey sighed. Was it foolish to fight his instinct to save people who were in trouble and didn't know it? All the way back to high school and Andie, his first love, he'd done it, and it never worked out for anything but heartache for himself. But maybe the age difference with this gorgeous college boy would be a good thing. Helping someone as a mentor instead of a lover might keep his heart intact. It was a different approach, and although it would mean never getting to peel those layers of designer clothes off of that elegantly lean body, and missing the chance to taste the smooth, alabaster skin or wrap his fingers or lips around his-

Pacey cleared his throat and straightened his collar, heading to the kitchen to squeeze some fresh orange juice.

"I think you should get a job here," Elliot said. Kurt's head was still pounding so hard all he responded with was a scowl. "The band isn't enough to keep you occupied, Kurt. Get a job, find your footing, and quit fucking up your liver."

"I don't need you to parent me, Elliot."

"Nah, let someone older and wiser have a crack at it," Pacey interrupted, setting the juice glasses on the table for each of them. "You at least wake up indoors this time, angel?"

Kurt scowled. "I would rather have some coffee, please," he said, pushing the glass away.

"Too bad. You drink that, and a bottle of Saratoga, then I'll bring you coffee," Pacey replied pleasantly. Elliot grinned. "Are you a greasy breakfast sort or do you want some carbs? Our pancakes are just this side of heaven."

"Heaven sounds about right, doesn't it, Kurt?" Elliot prodded. He still wanted the story on the angel nickname. Kurt shrugged like a petulant two year old, but reached for the juice when Pacey agreed and walked away with an adorable bounce to his step. Kurt's eyes were drawn to follow the cock-sure movement and he noted that older man actually had an incredible ass.

Katrina brought them the cobalt blue bottles of water, and then Pacey had a french press on the tray for them when he came out with their food. He delivered it and left them to it with just a gentle pat on Kurt's shoulder. Those pats were starting to do something to Kurt. As almost impersonal as they seemed to be intended, they were making his whole chest buzz.

Kurt ignored the deliberate, raised-brow looks Elliot shot him and Pacey and back. He really didn't need a new boyfriend. All the ones he'd had in college had turned out to be self-absorbed and uninterested in anything deeper than sex. And Kurt could get that any night of the week at a club.

The pancakes truly were delicious, and Kurt suspected that the real maple syrup they'd been served wasn't the standard offering. By the time they finished eating and were both on their second cup of coffee, Kurt was beginning to feel human again.

Katrina handled their check, and Kurt began to wonder if he'd see Pacey before they left. Not that he was looking for him or anything. Elliot was already outside waiting when Kurt exited the men's room, starting to pull his jacket on.

"Looks like the meal did you some good."

Kurt turned at Pacey's words, smiling a little. The older man helped him with his coat, and they shared a silent moment in the alcove by the restrooms, looking at each other. The generous care Pacey had shown him definitely hadn't blinded Kurt to his handsomeness. He had more rugged features than Kurt generally preferred, but the older man had a gorgeous set of broad shoulders and a trim waist, and his eyes were the kindest Kurt thought he'd seen since he'd come to the city. They felt comforting and familiar and the warmth in them drew Kurt. So he stepped closer to the taller man and looked up at him coquettishly through his eyelashes.

"I'm thinking I should thank you especially for all your care this week," Kurt said, deliberately making his voice breathy. He let the tip of his tongue peek out to lick just the center of his top lip for a moment, then he smiled at him. Maybe someone older, who wasn't another attention whoring performance major...

Pacey froze for an instant. Kurt's flirtation hit him like an aphrodisiac, and he floundered in his own mind for the briefest of moments, tempted to take the boy's hand and lead him back to his office, to get him naked and worship the white skin that had haunted his dreams since that morning in the alley. But his own façade saved him as his cocky grin slid into place and he took Kurt's shoulders in his hands and pushed him back a step.

"Best thanks you can give me will be taking better care of yourself, angel. Don't let yourself spiral into oblivion. You're worth better than that, Kurt."

Kurt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, his own mask firmly hiding his disappointment and his contradictory relief. "You keep saying that, Pacey, but you don't even know me."

The bitterness in Kurt's voice made Pacey's instincts overwhelm him and he cupped the boy's cheek with one hand. "I've known you all my life, angel," he said sadly, thinking of every lover he'd rescued and then been abandoned by, running his thumb whisper-light along the dark circle beneath Kurt's clear blue-green eye, then letting go and heading back into the restaurant.

Kurt stood still, his face burning with conflicting feelings. Then a woman passed him going to the ladies' room, and he pivoted and hurried out to join Elliot on the sidewalk.

Five

Kurt stared at the crown he'd received from being written in as promqueen. He'd hardened his heart and arrogantly accepted the 'honor' as if it really was intended as one, declaring in his speech his pride in his fellow students at casting aside gender stereotypes, but alone in his room, he let a few bitter tears escape. Fuck them. Fuck Lima, Ohio and the narrow minded people here. One more year of school and he was going to New York and never coming back.

Kurt sat at his keyboard and played, just musically doodling, and found a poignant melody growing from it. He played it a few times, and got a bit of the underscore for it. He twittered around with it, playing it with more confidence, and it slowly started to morph into something with fewer minor chords. No, there was another melody that twined with it, harmonizing and bringing light to the darker piece. He decided it was worth recording and hit the music app on his phone and played everything he had through before he started writing it up.

As he finished, his phone rang. Mercedes, his best friend from high school, calling from either California or on tour somewhere.

"Hey girl!"

"Kurt! I got that vibe again. Something's going on with you. Don't say it's not because after you shut me out last time I googled you and I know what happened opening night. How are you doing? What are you doing?"

Kurt silently mouthed a curse. "Well, I went to see Madam Tibedeaux and we decided it was better if I start fresh in the fall."

"You dropped out of school?! You're kidding, you can't do that!"

"I'm taking a sabbatical."

"Horse-pucky! What are you doing? Are you gonna go back home or what?"

"I am home, Mercedes. There's nothing in Lima for me."

"Fine. But the first question stands, Kurt."

"Well... I'm writing. Who knows, I may have a new song for you soon."

"I know you ain't spending 14 hours a day writing music."

"The band-"

"What are you avoiding telling me?"

"What, like personal stories about going clubbing and fucking in bathrooms while high on X? Why on earth would I avoid telling you about that?" His voice was scathing, but he knew who the scorn was aimed at, and it wasn't his conservative, religious best friend.

"Oh, honey..."

"Don't you pity me, Mercedes Jones! I am doing fine."

"You could come out here. The sunshine would do you good."

"I'm...going to ask the owner of a great restaurant if he needs any help. Elliot thinks some structure would do me good. And a little extra money to pad my income from the tire shop wouldn't hurt." The words came out before he'd consciously decided to act on Elliot's suggestion.

"You mean it? You're getting yourself together?"

"I am always together."

"I want you to promise me no more drugs, Kurt."

"Yes, mom."

"I am serious, Kurt!"

"I promise. Pinky promise. It's not a very pretty morning after anyway."

"Good. I love you, honey."

"I love you, too."

They hung up. Kurt sat and considered, then pulled out the business card for Pacey's restaurant. He didn't look at anything but the phone number as he dialed, so he was surprised when Pacey himself answered. His eyes flicked back to the card and he realized it was Pacey's personal business card, not a generic one for the establishment.

"Oh, hi!" Kurt cringed when his voice came out extra high. "It's Kurt."

"Well hi there, angel."

Kurt fought down the flutter the nickname made in his stomach.

"I..."

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask if there's any chance you have a job opening there." Speaking rapidly he tried to get the words out past his nervousness.

"I have rules, Kurt. For employees."

"I would hope so."

"Rules about drinking and drugs and not coming to work hungover or too beat up to be presentable."

"I am always presentable."

"Except maybe when you're passed out face down next to a dumpster."

Kurt's face flushed. How had he forgotten who he was talking to?

"Maybe," he replied, trying to sound coy. "But I looked presentable enough for you to bring me inside."

"I'd have done that for any kid in that situation."

"Pacey, I'm twenty-three."

"You looked fifteen the other morning."

"So you're into twinks?" Kurt couldn't believe he was letting his mouth run away with him.

"Oh, angel, you don't know me at all."

"I know you well enough to ask for a job."

"And try to flirt your way into it."

"But it's working, isn't it?"

Pacey sighed. "Yeah, Kurt, it kinda is. Come on down tomorrow and we'll get your paperwork squared away and get a training scheduled."

Kurt was unexpectedly moved by the acceptance of his proposal. "Thank you, Pacey."

"Don't let me down, angel."

"How could I? I'm a heavenly being, right?"

They both laughed as they hung up.

Kurt got to bed early and was at the restaurant the next morning when Pacey arrived.

"Nice to see you can behave like a grownup," was the snarky comment Pacey made as he led Kurt inside. He regretted this already. How was being around Kurt every day going to help him stop dreaming, and even fantasizing about the boy? God, he was an idiot.

"You're awfully judgmental for a reformed screwup," Kurt replied. The sarcasm had stung, and he sniped back reflexively.

That stopped Pacey cold. In an instant he realized he'd begun sounding like his father. The authoritarian asshole of a lousy father his dad had been up until high school when Pacey had finally stood up to him. He turned to Kurt and shook his head.

"You're right. That's not the man I want to be for you. Please call me on it if I get that way again."

Kuet was completely taken aback. "I will."

In Pacey's office, Kurt recovered enough to respond. "So...there's a type of man you want to be for me?" He let a little bit of hope bleed through his carefully barricaded heart.

"If I'm gonna be a father figure, I need to not be my father, at the very least," Pacey replied, pulling a file folder out and getting the new hire forms ready.

Kurt frowned, feeling the rejection like an insult. "Who says you're going to be a father figure?"

"I think you could use a mentor, Kurt. That's all I mean."

Kurt stared with narrowed eyes. "A mentor."

"Sure."

"And if that's not the relationship I want with you?" The hope just wouldn't go away.

Pacey's heart clenched. That wasn't what he wanted with Kurt, either, but he was never going to have a different experience with a lover if he kept repeating the same mistakes. No more people who needed rescue and would abandon him as soon as they were strong enough to face their problems.

"You're about to become my employee. Mentor is the closest relationship you're gonna get, angel."

Kurt was tempted to throw a diva fit and walk out, but this really felt like the right place for him for now, despite his searing disappointment, so he bit back the arch, snarky reply on his lips and held his hand out for the forms.

"When will I begin training?" He asked instead. His voice was colder than he would have liked, but he was angry and doing the best he could.

"You can come in from one to five today if you want. Otherwise, not until Monday. I don't have new hires training on weekends."

"Fine. I'll be here." Kurt got up and went for the door. "Do I need to call you Mr Witter? Sir? Oh Captain my Captain?"

Pacey frowned, but his eyes were sad. He hated hurting Kurt but he knew it was for the best for both of them. "You can keep calling me Pacey," he said gently.

Kurt gave a single nod and hurried out. He didn't know why the soft rebuff hurt so bad, but he knew better than to ask for more, knowing he wasn't going to get it. That was normal. His sunglasses went on the moment he hit daylight, covering his unshed tears as he walked back to his apartment.

Six

Kurt showed up for his senior year fresh from working all summer at the tire shop. He had begun discussing what would happen with the business when he left for college with George, the man he'd promoted to manager and who had been running everything since the day of Burt's heart attack. Kurt planned to sell his house to pay tuition, but a slowly purchased part ownership as George sent Kurt money each month toward that would allow Kurt to focus solely on school. They both hoped that by the time he graduated, the economy in Lima would enable George to get a loan to finish the buyout and that lump sum would be Kurt's nest egg.

The experience with his adult responsibilities stood him in good stead when the school decided to put on The West Side Story and Kurt auditioned for Tony. He overheard a discussion amongst the faculty advisers and Artie in which Coach Beiste argued against his sex appeal but Miss Pillsbury promoted his world-weariness an a poignant warrior-poet-style lead. Artie concluded that an alternatively styled casting with Kurt as Tony and Mercedes as Maria would be edgy and that the maturity Kurt had gained in the previous year solidified him as a capable leading man.

While hurt by the dismissal from the coach, a person with whom he'd always felt a kinship as a fellow societal outcast, Kurt determined to make sparks fly between Mercedes and himself. He tried to embody both Romeo and Tony as they rehearsed, and found himself feeling intensely during his performances. The Lima newspaper printed a glowing review of the show, citing the unexpected chemistry between Kurt and Mercedes and the incredible harmonies of their voices.

Understanding how difficult the competition would be for acceptance to his chosen college, NYADA, and knowing that a diverse set of activities was gold on applications, Kurt also ran for Senior Class President, building on the grudging respect he'd earned from his speech as prom queen. His platform somehow managed to make the students of McKinley feel as if he believed in them, and he won with little difficultly. His actual feelings of scorn and ridicule for the sheep he saw them as were hidden deep.

His NYADA audition brought Madam Tibedeaux to her feet. He'd poured his hopes for life in New York into his performance of Not the Boy Next Door, and had impressed the unflappable woman with not only his voice, but his depth of emotion.

Fully embracing their leader and his unique vocal ability and creativity, the glee club utilized some of Kurt's original songs to win at sectionals and regionals, heading to nationals with unstoppable momentum. Kurt's solo performance of Defying Gravity brought the house down, and clinched a win.

In his own mind, simply leaving Lima Ohio was Kurt's greatest achievement, and he did it in style, and on top. Even breaking up with David since they were going to different schools and knew they weren't in love enough to make a long-distance relationship last didn't dampen Kurt's enthusiasm for finally getting out of the conservative town.

Weeks passed, and Pacey grudgingly granted Kurt the respect he earned as a model employee, always willing to pitch in and do any job the restaurant needed, including dishwashing, although he insisted on wearing gloves to protect his skin. But what bothered Pacey was the way Kurt had attempted to wall himself off from him. He'd known since the beginning that Kurt was one of the loneliest people he'd ever met, and he had tried to let him know that he knew it without falling into his well-established pattern of becoming a care-taking lover. But the boundaries Pacey set seemed to alienate Kurt, and the older man struggled to find a way to break through to him without breaking his own heart in the process.

Kurt had finished his side work at the end of his shift, but was still at the restaurant helping in the kitchen when Pacey came back from his rounds of the tables. He saw Kurt emptying the trash and starting to take the bags out to the dumpster and he quickly moved to help.

"Hey, Kurt, let me get that one," Pacey said, taking one of the bags. They maneuvered the bulky garbage out and tucked it away. Pacey stopped Kurt from going back inside with a light touch on his shoulder. The younger man stiffened and drew back. "I just wanted to say thanks for all you do. Really, you're a great asset to the place."

"Thank you," Kurt replied coldly. He had that haughty expression that Pacey knew meant he was hiding pain. It hurt so much to know that his intentions for mentoring the boy had fallen into ashes.

"I've been impressed with your work ethic, and everyone seems to like you, angel. I mean, how could they not, right? You're so warm and cuddly." The sarcasm came automatically, and Pacey regretted it immediately when a flash of additional smoldering hurt came to Kurt's eyes.

"You told me to call you on it if you were being an asshole. Well, Pacey, ring fucking ring. I have done everything I can for you, for the restaurant and this job. You know I care what you think of me. So if you're just going to call me a cold bitch, I'd just as soon you not speak to me at all." Kurt turned on his heel and went back inside. He gathered his personal belongings and rushed out, hailing a taxi and going straight home. He stripped off his work clothes and changed into his tightest jeans and sexiest clubbing outfit. Condoms in his back pocket, cash and his ID in the front, and Kurt was ready to go forget all about the man he wanted more than anyone he'd ever known.

At the first club, Kurt flirted shamelessly with anyone who caught his eye. He drank enough to loosen up, and danced alone while various men tried to join him. He'd let one move with him until he got tired of him, then he'd whirl away until another brave soul would try. Kurt grew frustrated when none of them turned him on.

The next club was louder, with black lights making people's uv paint or accessories glow, and the telltale un-ta, un-ta, un-ta beat of electronic rave music. Kurt drank some more, and lost himself on the packed dance floor, unconcerned as strangers randomly rubbed against him. He tried to let loose, closing his eyes and feeling the rhythm and warmth of bodies grinding against him. But Pacey's miserable expression before Kurt had left him in the alley kept filling his mind. He went to the bar and quickly had an attractive man offer to buy him a drink. He accepted.

Several drinks later, Kurt found himself up against the wall in the bathroom with a stranger on his knees before him, rolling a condom onto him and sucking him off. He came, biting off the P-sound his traitorous lips kept forming as he couldn't keep from imagining it was Pacey, and he blindly righted his clothes and left. He caught a taxi home and passed out on his couch.

Kurt was careful to hide every trace of his hangover when he went to work the next day, but he caught a reproving glance more than once from Pacey. He gave his boss the coldest cold shoulder he could and made sure to go above and beyond expectations for his job that day, being perky and charming to his tables and ending up with his biggest tip day since he'd started. But even though he was tempted to, Kurt didn't go clubbing again after that.

Elliot kept telling Kurt how great the changes were in him with his job every time they talked or had a gig. Kurt knew his co-lead singer basically meant his lack of extracurricular drug, alcohol, and sex escapades. Their performances continued to be well attended, and Kurt was pleased at least one part of his life was going right. He worked on fleshing out his latest song and eventually played it for Elliot in hopes he'd write lyrics so Kurt wouldn't have to solidify what the music expressed for him. The knowing look from his friend that went with his refusal and encouragement to complete the song solo made Kurt cringe. It would be too revealing to write, so he tucked it away and tried to work on something else, determined not to think about Pacey in a romantic way.

While Kurt struggled, Pacey was miserable. His savior complex was screaming at him that Kurt was drowning and he had to do something, but he didn't trust himself not to cross into dangerous territory if he tried to get past Kurt's walls.

Weeks passed, and Kurt avoided spending any time alone with Pacey. It felt like he was slowly becoming hollow with each morose look from his boss, but his icy façade never waivered. He wouldn't let it, because it was all he felt he had left.

The day he registered for his return to college for the fall semester wrecked the control Kurt had been clinging to. Three different times he heard laughter or comments as he walked across campus, and twice students had the audacity to speak directly to him. One was a short guy with too much gel in his hair who told him he was from Ohio, too, and he admired Kurt's courage to return. The small ego boost that gave him vanished with the other, a snide remark about try try again, at least before you get to the real world.

Kurt drank himself stupid that night at the clubs and woke in an NYU dorm room with a stranger in the narrow bed, a black eye and no memory of how he got there. He burned with shame when he had to call Pacey and tell him he'd be late for his shift, and then Elliot to meet him at his apartment with cab fair. He cleaned himself up, put concealer on his shiner, and arrived at work only an hour late.

Even with the makeup, Pacey pulled him aside and told him to work in the kitchen. The reproachful look from his boss tore him up, and he knew it was likely his only warning that he'd broken Pacey's rules.

Kurt took every shift he could, trying to stay busy and not be drawn by the siren's lure to clubs and utterly vacuous, soul-draining sex. He drank himself to sleep each night, but it wasn't restful. He started hoping Elliot wouldn't get them any gigs while he was feeling like this, and that thought shook him.

One of Kurt's instructors came for lunch and was so patronizing he'd found himself ready to scream or cry or both. He took his break and leaned against the wall in the alley, letting a couple of tears track down his face. Going back to school was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. He was going to have to face the pity, scorn, sympathy, and condescension from everyone who knew how he had risen so high and fallen so far.

Something specific had happened to Kurt that day, something new and emotionally damaging, and Pacey struggled to maintain his aloof distance while the younger man suffered. When he saw Kurt sniffle and duck out the back door for his break, his resolve cracked. He followed.

"Kurt...angel..." Pacey's voice was more gentle than it had ever been and Kurt whirled away from him, mortified that the very last person he wanted to look weak in front of was seeing him crying. God, he tried not to let anyone see him cry. Not since his father's funeral. He desperately wiped at the moisture from his eyes but whimpered when he recalled he had coverup hiding the dark stress smudges beneath them. This day could not get worse.

Pacey's strong hands cupped his shoulders and turned him around, drawing him into an embrace. God it was tempting to just let himself go, to take advantage of the support Pacey was offering. But Kurt just couldn't do it. He stepped back, shaking the comforting hands off.

"I thought we weren't going there," Kurt sneered, going on the offensive as default.

Pacey's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. "Kurt, don't do that. Jesus, man, you're wound so tight you're gonna snap."

"I already did, haven't you heard? I spent three and a half years climbing to the top at NYADA and my fall was proportionally spectacular. And now I'm swallowing the sludge of my pride to go back; in part because you advised me to do it. I'm going to spend this fall eating crow and listening to whispers as well as having my failure thrown in my face, and it's... I'm..." Kurt's voice broke and he turned away again as his traitorous tears streamed down.

Pacey moved close to him, but didn't risk touching him again. He spoke quietly, confessionally, and carefully told Kurt about his history of rescuing people and then being left behind.

"I decided after Matt dumped me and went into rehab that I wasn't going to do that again. But then an angel fell on my doorstep and I couldn't turn away. I fell in love with you when you showed up for brunch with Elliot, but I can't put everything I am into you and risk you abandoning me when you feel strong. I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough for that; not with you."

Kurt walked away. He moved forward, unable to face Pacey with the man showing him everything he wanted and pulling it away in the next breath. Kurt couldn't breathe with the weight on his chest, but somehow, he made it down the alley and walked all the way around to the front of the restaurant and back inside to keep working. He moved like a zombie and Katrina sent him home early. He never saw Pacey watching him with agonizing regret the whole time.

Seven

Kurt wasn't sure when he'd been totally sober last. Well, he'd been sober when they released him from the hospital after he'd grown confused mid-song and fallen into the orchestra pit during opening night of the play he wrote and starred in. But that was whyhe was drunk, of course. It was just easier to stay drunk than to face the hangovers. The ecstasy provided spikes in his awareness that sort of marked the passing of time. He rarely took the drug more than once a night. He preferred the sustained high of X over the poppers someone had stuck under his nose the night he'd fucked some guy in a back booth at a gay club with a whole crowd watching. Fucking in public wasn't to his taste, anyway.

He was in a different gay club. At least he thought it was a different one. Some cute blonde was grinding against him on the dance floor, and Kurt was considering seeing if the guy wanted to take a few minutes in the bathroom with him when a drag queen wearing fluffy white wings had descended on them. She was utterly wasted, and Kurt was at the point of his high when he was amenable to about anything, so when she kissed him deeply and told him something about him tasting like heaven, he'd laughed and turned his attention to her. Somehow, he got the wings put on him and he was pushed up onto the bar and walked it like a runway. Whistles and shouts and two muscle bound men carrying him off the bar were all he really recalled later. Eventually he'd tried to walk home and ended up passing out in an alley.

It was another night that Kurt couldn't face staying home alone. In fact, he felt reckless and went directly to a club he normally had to be wasted already to even set foot inside. It was a dirty, illegally smoky place where the music was much harder than Kurt usually cared for. More of a straight but not narrow establishment where all kinds of illicit needs could be met or arranged for. He tossed back a double vodka and all but ran to the dance floor. He slammed into strangers and was shoved back, but the physical release was exactly what he needed.

Even with more alcohol in his system, he refused anyone who tried to draw him to the bathrooms, though. He kept seeing the sad disapproval on Pacey's face and he just couldn't imagine even getting hard for some drunk guy on his knees. He wanted Pacey, face to face, to kiss and love and... Every time his mind went there, Kurt got another shot, chasing the oblivion that would let him forget the man he was certain he could happily share his life with, if only he hadn't already fucked his chances up doing exactly the kind of thing he was doing.

He slammed harder into people, and by the time he caught a taxi home, he had a split lip and bruises all over his upper body and he was limping from a particularly vicious stomp on his right foot. He should have gone home and put his steel toed boots on first. This set of his work clothes was ruined.

Kurt fell across his bed, knowing he'd had more to drink than he probably ever had before in one night, but he still couldn't erase the sound of Pacey's voice saying he refused to risk being with him. Tears started, and wracking sobs followed. Kurt cried and cried until he finally passed out.

Getting to work on time was a herculean effort the following morning, but Kurt managed. He used eyedrops and hemorrhoid cream and concealer to get his eyes looking halfway normal, but there was little he could do for his fat lip. He iced it as much as he could, but the look on Pacey's face when he walked in told him it wasn't good enough.

Kurt's shoulders slumped when he followed Pacey to his office when he'd jerked his head that way.

"I told you I have rules, Kurt. I'm sorry, but you're fired. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself right in front of me." Pacey didn't ask Kurt to sit down or give him any preamble at all.

The blood drained from Kurt's already pale face, and he swayed, catching himself on the back of the chair next to the door.

"You..." Kurt's voice was a thready, high whisper. "You devastate me, raising my hopes and then crushing me totally and now you have the gall to fire me for trying to find some way of coping?" His voice rose, becoming shrill. "I am so in love with you, Pacey, that even now all I want is for you to hold me and call me your angel and instead you're firing me and I don't have anywhere to go or anything to do and I hoped you'd realize that I would do anything for you. I have to go back to school and face all that and I want to come home to you and have a safe place and know that when all the shit is over that we'll still be there, you and me through it all, and now you just..." His knees wobbled, and he regretted everything suddenly. He regretted ever coming back to the restaurant and getting to know Pacey. He stared at Pacey's stricken face for a long moment, hoping for one more instant that he'd say something, say anything at all.

But he didn't.

So Kurt left.

Pacey dropped into his chair and his head fell forward until it rested on the desk. This had to be the right decision, didn't it? To let the screwed up kid go out of his life and try not to wonder if he'd end up wasted away by some STD, to try to forget those big blue eyes and that sense of kinship and that pull to wrap him up and safeguard that wounded, gentle heart that only Pacey could see.

How could not helping someone who needed it ever be the right choice, though? That went against Pacey's very nature. He wanted to get up and rush out and sweep Kurt off his feet and... Like he had done with Matt. Matt, who'd broken Pacey's heart so badly he couldn't bear to even date for these last two years.

Pacey moaned like a wounded animal. He was shredding inside. He couldn't do this. He couldn't leave it like this.

He yanked open his desk drawer and pulled out Kurt's employment record, noting his address, then he got up and headed out. He had to explain. He just had to make Kurt understand that he wanted to help as a friend and mentor but he couldn't be anything more than that.

But Kurt hadn't gone home. Pacey was sure that if the young man was home, he'd have answered the knocking he'd been doing for the last fifteen minutes. Pacey finally sat, leaning against the door. He'd just have to wait. And worry about what craziness he'd driven Kurt to. He banged his head back against the door. He had fucked up so badly!

Kurt wandered. He went to Central Park and tried to let nature soothe him. He took a taxi to the museum at the Fashion Institute of Technology, but he couldn't concentrate. He considered going to the top of the Empire State Building, but decided that was too maudlin and gauche even for him in his heartbroken state. It never occurred to him to go to a club or to get drunk. He walked until his feet ached and he had to sit down. Nothing made any sense to him, and as night began to fall, he finally decided to go home.

Pacey had fallen into a trance as he waited, and it took long moments for his brain to register that Kurt was staring down at him before he got to his feet. Kurt unlocked his door and went inside, leaving the entryway open. Pacey followed him inside and quietly shut the door behind him. Then he waited.

Kurt went and got a bottle of water and drank it. He didn't know how to start telling Pacey what he'd been thinking. But when the older man cleared his throat as if to be the one to speak first, Kurt marched up to stand directly in front of him. He looked up into Pacey's eyes and the words tumbled out.

"I don't need you to fix me, Pacey. I don't need a dad, or a mentor, or a big brother. I just need you. I need you because you see me. You see me naked and screwed up and you see me making mistakes and being an arrogant prick and you love me," his voice broke and he felt tears fill his eyes. "You are the only one who has ever seen me, and I swear to you that I know how messed up I am right now, but I know I will get through this. That's not what I need you for: You don't have to fix me. You just have to love me. That's all I want. That's everything I need from you. Just for you tosee me, and to still love me."

"I'm scared of it, Kurt," Pacey told him. It was time for brutal honesty. "I'm so scared of being with you and you leaving me. You're incredible. Yes, you're flawed and you can be a total bitch, but I understand how alone you are, and everything in me cries out to make you not be. But I can't go through helping you and getting you to a healthy place and then-"

"Ohmygod, Pacey, you're more broken than I am!" The revelation sent Kurt's mind reeling. Maybe this wasn't about him, for once. "I'm fucked up, but I am facing my fears. I'm going back to that school where I literally fell on my face because I want to graduate." He shook his head wonderingly. It was so true. He knew he could do what he needed to do. And now that he'd started revealing himself deliberately to Pacey, he had flashes of insight into what he wanted. "I want you to want me more than you're afraid of getting hurt. I want to help you get healthy emotionally. And maybe you'llleave me, then. But I will survive. My parents died and I finished growing up by myself. I don't need saving," Kurt said, feeling his conviction. No matter how lonely or put down he felt, he had always gotten back up. He was strong. He was strong enough to lift Pacey and take care of both of them. He laughed suddenly. "Pacey, I love you. And I'm strong enough for both of us. All you have to do is trust me, and love me. Do you love me, Pacey?"

Pacey couldn't speak, so he just nodded.

"And do you trust me?"

A sob threatened to crack his chest, but Pacey nodded again. Kurt beamed up at him, smiling.

"Then it's time for me to save you, my love," Kurt said. He put his fingers lightly on Pacey's cheeks and drew him down into a kiss with feather-light insistance. A shudder rippled through the taller man, then they were grabbing onto each other and holding tight, their lips parting into a mind-blowingly deep embrace, shattering the walls they both hid behind and committing fully.

Breathlessly, they finally parted, and Pacey stared in awe.

"My angel," he whispered, seeing his salvation in Kurt's eyes.

And Kurt smiled.

A/N I'm working on a sequel to this. Not sure if I want to keep the flashback format. If you'd like to have more scenes and details of what my alternate Kurt backstory is, please PM me or leave a review. So far the sequel has both Blaine and Sebastian Smythe in it. Not sure who else might crop up! Thanks for reading.